The Biggest Loser

Coupe’s back! This makes me happy. Coupe is a muscle freak that rocks me every ounce as hard as his stunning body is (hard, that is). His arms and chest are like a road map of thick, blue veins. His 6’1″, 215 pound body is tanned a freakish mocha that convinces me he’s got to be yet another competition bodybuilder-turned-wrestler. His quads look thicker than his waist, and this minuscule fraction of body fat is probably not indicative of an entirely healthy, happy diet. There are some elements to the package that is Thunder’s Coupe that could go either way for me. Too much a vascular muscle freak, too many monster veins and synthetic skin tone can become more than I can get into. Somehow, Coupe stays just within the lines of homoerotic wrestling fantasy material for me.  His personality may be the piece of the puzzle that tips the scales the right direction. Some of his on camera banter with Cameron Mathews from a ways back was fantastically charming. He’s got a sense of humor. His wrestling persona is oddly self-depracating when packaged in that superhuman physique. He loses… a lot. And there’s something intoxicating about watching all that mind-blowing muscularity manipulated, exploited and owned. That he’s back at Thunder’s for more makes me happy not only for the eye candy, but the enjoyment of witnessing both his Superman assets paired with an adorable vulnerability.
Coupe and Dallas meet for Bodybuilder Battle 48 as they both lounge around the Thunder’s Arena living room. They start a little pissing contest about who’s been brutalized the worst. It’s a homoerotic wrestling take on “biggest loser,” as both notorious whipping boys take ironic pride in boasting their most humiliating defeats. In a battle of jobbers, who’s the jobberiest?
Aptly named Big Sexy shows up to light a fire under these boys. I appreciate the sentiment. While I find a distinct allure to a squash or a destined-to-job muscleman, if there’s no pretense of an ego on the line, then it’s just not very homoerotic for my tastes. Eye candy is nice. Pretty bodies on display are pleasing. But if the wrestling has no heart, it doesn’t tweak my wrestling kink. So Big Sexy offers $500 to whichever notorious loser can finally chalk up a decisive victory. Coupe is eager to take the challenge. Dallas looks less  hopeful.
On the Thunder’s mat, Dallas cannot take his eyes off of Coupe’s sculpted pecs. “You’re huge!” he mutters with a dumbshit grin on his face.  Big Sexy leans toward Coupe conspiratorially. “I’m pretty sure you’re going to win…” he confides to Coupe. Then he turns his attention to his former chore boy to explain, “…cause you’re shitty.”
Dallas mutters, embarrassed, “Me too.”  As the action finally commences, there’s more than a helping of the typical Thunder’s camp that bounces off of me like rubber. Dallas, in particular, is about 3.5% wrestler, 96.5% ham sandwich from start to finish in this match up. Reminiscent of many a “fight” between me and my older brother when I was about 6 years old (which was just not homoerotic), Dallas goes for an “Indian burn” early in the match. The boys laugh at themselves uncomfortably for the first 10 minutes or so. Personally, I’m attracted by a build up of tension, but with each snort and nervous chuckle, they frustratingly release the tension and reduce my satisfaction.
Back to the issue of eye candy, however, Coupe looks amazing. Returning from the awkward cuts showing extensive need for editing the original tape, Coupe is frequently found flexing his muscle freak physique for no other reason than he knows he looks so fucking hot. It’s the eye candy aspect that keeps me watching when Dallas’ ham makes me just feel uncomfortable for these big boys. Slowly, Coupe settles firmly into character. He easily puts Dallas on his back and forces him to strum his washboard abs. They trade bear hugs that show off Coupe’s munchable striated glutes. When Dallas manages an improbable schoolboy pin and then cradle, Coupe’s mind-blowing muscles are stretched and displayed from nearly every angle. Spread-eagled and bridging, it makes me long to offer another $500 to Dallas if he’ll just keep Coupe locked up long enough for me to seriously study his captured crotch up close… with my hands… and my tongue.
Coupe eventually hits a note that turns me on without reservation. It’s his crowing, gloating muttering of the phrase, “All day…” that finally sells me. He pounds Dallas’ soft tummy. He claws his pecs. He scoops him up like absolutely nothing and parades the unemployed pizza delivery boy around the mat with growing pleasure at the feel of being in charge. “All day,” he mutters with each compromising position he lays down on his continually clowning opponent. “All day,” he says, slamming Dallas to his back.  He seamlessly transitions from the body slam to an armlock, cranking Dallas’ elbow backward painfully. “Is that not the way it’s supposed to go?” Coupe asks, chuckling, this time not in nervous self-consciousness, but in cocky confidence.  “This is called ‘Getting Fucked Up,’ man,” Coupe gloats.
When Dallas wrestled for Naked Kombat as Parker London, he was hot, intense, and all business. So I know that he can do something other than clown around. He also rode his NK opponent like a pony before force feeding him his cock and plowing his ass, so I’m ready to cut Dallas some slack and not over-interpret his clownishness here as contempt for his audience. But it takes some considerable heat on the part of Coupe to avoid being doused by the cold shower of Dallas’ screwing around and laughing.  When Coupe literally beats a final submission out of him, stretched backward across his thigh and pounding Dallas’ soft core like a sledge hammer, it’s an erotic relief/release for me to see something that looks like powerful, beautiful physical domination. If the rest of the match was as gorgeously sold, if Dallas just channeled a little of his pornboy Parker persona to put a little ego on the mat, this could have been a thoroughly rousing scrap.
As it is, I’m just happy to see Coupe in action again, and I can generate some serious enthusiasm for the moments of wrestling kink allure that he works himself into. Now, if he’d peel off those canary posing trunks and ride Dallas around the mat like a pony, this fun little 27 minute diversion would be seriously epic!

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